


A Stormy Night

by JordanUlysses



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dragons, Loving Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 07:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordanUlysses/pseuds/JordanUlysses
Summary: It is not a night to be out and about, if you aren't a watchman. But a dragon goes missing and of course Sybil has to look for him ...





	A Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siri/gifts).



Vimes shut the door forcefully against the storm and shook himself, raindrops flying everywhere. The hall was warm and welcoming and he sighed happily as he took off his coat. There had been many nights in his life he would have enjoyed such a fine weather, but the older he got the more he enjoyed this as well: coming home to a fire burning, food ready on the table, a loving wife chattering on ... He looked up expectantly as the door at the end of the hall opened, and deflated a tiny bit at the sight of Willikins.

"Sir, you are home," Willikins stated rather needlessly. His posture was stiff, but as he came closer and took Vimes's coat, Vimes thought his face looked haunted.

"Yes," he replied carefully, his mind running circles around everything that could be wrong, one thing standing out clearly. "Where is Sybil?"

"Sir," Willikins straightened even further. "Lady Sybil went out. The hinges of the door to the pens got damaged and we spent the evening catching the little bu- the escaped dragons. It seems that Mister Wiggles the Fourth made it off the grounds, and the Lady left an hour ago. I've been in the stables trying to calm the animals."

"Ho-," Vimes stared at him, trying to process the information. "How did the door get damaged?"

"Fire. A few of the dragons seem to have targeted the hinges specifically. Or at least that's what we assume."

"Bugger," Vimes murmured, grabbing back his coat. "Do you know which direction she went?"

"I'm afraid not, Sir. I had my arms full. Of dragon that is."

"Bugger indeed. Well, you continue with them and I'll try to find Sybil. It's not a night to be out and about, if you aren't a watchman that is."

"My sentiment exactly, but Lady Sybil was adamant."

"Course she was," Vimes murmured as he put his coat back on.

"Good luck, Sir," Willikins opened the door for him, not flinching as the rain hit him.

 

The storm was howling, shouting, crying, tearing on Vimes's slender frame as he pushed his way down the street. It was a mystery why a dragon would want to leave its warm and comfy stable for the chaos of such a night, but then, the internal workings of dragons were a general mystery.

He squinted, trying to make out something, anything in the dark. Wiping his face from the rain did not have any effects either and when he tried to shout he could not even make out his own words.

The road made a turn and he huddled against the next building, the rain somehow managing to find him even under a balcony. There was no way he would find Sybil in this weather, let alone the dragon. Thunder rolled over the city, lightning illuminating the street in harsh flashes. It was a nightmarish scene, and if he would not have been so worried he would have laughed.

Suddenly he thought he could hear the ringing of a bell. He turned in the direction - there was nothing to see, but again, a ringing that he heard over the storm. “-s well!”

Was that …? He pushed himself of the wall and went towards the ringing. “Carrot?” he shouted, the wind taking the words from his lips.

“Three o'clock and all is well,” he could suddenly hear it clearly and there, he could make out Carrot's stout frame.

“Captain!” he shouted again and this time Carrot seemed to hear him. He approached with big steps.

“Commander, what are you doing out here? I thought you went home?” Somehow his voice boomed above the thunder.

“Yes!” Vimes shouted. “Sybil is out! I'm looking for her!”

“What?” Carrot leaned closer.

“Sybil is out in the storm! I need to find her!”

“Oh, but it's not a night to be out and about …,” Carrot straightened. “Let's go to the watch house, we can organise a search.”

“Yes,” Vimes shouted back.

Somehow he managed to stay just a step behind Carrot, who shielded him from the rain as they made their way as quickly as possible to Pseudopolis Yard.

 

As they stumbled in Nobby sprang to his feet, his voice high and excited. “C'mander! So good you are here, it's your Lady -!”

Vimes had just shaken out the water from his ears, but at Nobby's words went still.

“She came here half an hour ago, drenched, I tell you. We think she got a cold, no wonder with this weather. Seargent put her up in your old room and lit a fire, we also made some gluvine for her. Fred's with her, on account of him being married and knowing how to behave around a lady properly …”

“Nobby,” Vimes's voice was sharp.

“Sah!” Nobby saluted automatically.

“My wife is here?”

“Yes, sah!” Nobby pointed at the ceiling. “Up there that is.”

“Oh gods,” Vimes mumbled and then practically leapt up the stairs. He took a moment to calm his breathing and then quietly opened the door.

Fred sat on the edge of a chair, his posture very rigid, while Sybil was leaning against a pillow, cradling a mug in her hands. She was not wearing a wig, her eyes and nose red, but other than that she seemed alright.

“Sam,” she exclaimed, her voice shaky.

He came in, Fred springing to his feet and saluting. Vimes waved it off. “Thank you, Fred,” he mumbled.

“It's nothing, Commander. We couldn't bring her home, with that storm still going on, so we put her up here.”

“Good thinking, Fred.”

Fred beamed. “I get you some more gluvine, my lady.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. It's terribly kind,” Sybil said and as Fred left the room Vimes noted that he was blushing all over.

“You are alright,” he said, approaching the bed.

“And you are drenched. Do you have a change of clothes around? There were still some of my old clothes, so there must be something for you as well ...” Sybil put the mug aside and tried to get up, but sat back with a groan. “Oh, my head.”

“Shouldn't get up,” Vimes said and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking her hands in his. “You should get some sleep, my dear.”

“I'm fine,” she murmured, the next moment sneezing loudly.

“Case in point,” Vimes said. He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over.

“You are right, I should sleep. Everyone has been so awfully kind …,” Sybil blew her nose and then wiped over her eyes. “But Mister Wiggles is still out there.”

“He'll have found some shelter, I'm sure.”

Sybil shook her head, but then lay down. Vimes pulled up the blanket around her. “You just rest, and we'll see about the dragon in the morning, alright?”

She nodded, her eyes already closed. He leaned down and kissed her head.

“He was flying,” she mumbled, and he stroked over her cheek. “His wings are so wide, and he was flying on the storm ...”

Vimes kissed her again and then sat back on the chair, waiting until she was slightly snoring. Then, he quietly left the room.

 

The storm cleared in the early hours of the morning and as Vimes stepped out on the street to clear his head he was met with a clear blue sky and bright sunshine.

“Good morning Sir,” Willikins came jogging down the street. “Have you found Lady Sybil?”

“Morning. Yes, she came here. She's upstairs and has caught a cold.”

“At least some good news,” Willikins said. “I'll fetch the carriage so we can bring her home, and send for the doctor.”

“Thank you. Are the dragons alright? She'll ask when she wakes up.”

“Yes, they are calm and all accounted for, except Mister Wiggles of course.”

Vimes cursed under his breath.

 

He managed a quick nap when the doctor had left. He had prescribed rest, lots of tea and some cough syrup. Willikins had sent a message to the sanctuary that someone should come by and take care of the dragons while Sybil was recovering, and all that taken care off … He allowed himself to lie down in one of the guest bedrooms.

 

A knock woke him up abruptly. Disoriented he sat up and called to come in.

It was Willikins, carrying a cup of coffee. “Mister Drumknott is waiting downstairs for you, Sir. He brought Mister Wiggles.”

“He did what?”

“We already put him into the stables. He's a bit roughed up, but sleeping now. The repairs on the stable door are also advancing, and your wife is sleeping peacefully.”

“That's … all very good. Drumknott is downstairs?” He glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece. “It's eleven thirty … I'm late for my appointment!” Springing to his feet he nearly knocked the coffee out of Willikins hand.

“Mister Drumknott told me to tell you that today's appointment is cancelled due to the circumstances. He still wishes to speak with you.”

“Oh,” he reached for the cup and drained it, not wincing as he burned his tongue. “I'll better go down then.”

Willikins took back the cup and held the door open.

 

Drumknott stood up as Vimes came in. “Commander, how is your wife?”

“She's sleeping. Just got a cold, the doctor told her to rest.”

“The Patrician is sending his wishes for a speedy recovery.”

“Thanks. I mean, tell him thank you.”

“I will,” Drumknott smiled pleasantly.

“How … how did you find the dragon?” Vimes blurted out.

“It seems Mister … Wiggles, is it?”

“The Fourth. Mister Wiggles the Fourth.”

“Indeed. He sought shelter from the storm.”

“Where?”

“In the Palace. The storm blew open one of the windows of the Oblong Office, where the dragon first expressed his dislike of the whole situation and then fell asleep beneath his lordships desk. Where his lordship found him this morning.”

Vimes stood very still, trying not to grin. “How did he express his dislike?”

“It seems he particularly did not approve of the wallpaper. I have to say, the black smudges really have an overall positive effect.”

“Are you saying the Oblong Office got burned down?”

“Not burned down, no. We can only presume that Mister Wiggles did not have much fire left in him at that point.”

“And … his lordship is alright? Mister Wiggles didn't show his dislike to him?”

“Not directly, no. Between us …,” Drumknott lowered his voice, “his lordship seemed to have been startled quite a bit. Other than that the other messes in the office are already cleaned up. His lordship is still residing in the Oval one for today, the smell has not yet cleared out.”

Vimes burst out laughing, and needed a full minute to stop again. Drumknott only looked on patiently.

“His lordship expects you to come tomorrow at eleven am again.”

“Course,” Vimes was still giggling. “Thank you, Rufus. That was … honestly, you made my morning.”

“Much obliged. Give my personal regards to Lady Sybil as well, please.” He bowed and left the room.

 

Vimes had taken station at Sybil's sick bed, trying to read through the stack of last month's law notices.

“Sam?”

“Yes, I'm here,” he put aside the papers and poured a glass of water. Helping Sybil to sit up he then handed it to her.

“How long did I sleep?” she asked.

“It's late afternoon. How are you feeling?”

“Sore all over,” she smiled weakly. “But better than last night.”

“That's something. And I have news to cheer you up.”

“Oh?”

“First of all, the dragons are fine. A Sarah and a Susan came by to help out.”

“That's good.”

“And Drumknott brought by Mister Wiggles.”

Sybil raised her eyebrows.

“It seems, he took refugee in the palace. The Oblong Office, of all places. Remember how I once said that room could use an exploding dragon or two for redecoration?”

“He … exploded? That's horrible!”

“No, he didn't. But it seems he still put some fire to the wallpaper. And … other things on the floor.”

“They do get such terribly upset stomachs when they are stressed and excited …,” Sybil smirked. “Oh, poor Havelock. That must have been quite a shock to him.”

“Yes, poor Havelock,” Sam repeated and then burst out laughing again.

“Samuel Vimes, you are a naughty one,” Sybil said, but she was grinning as well.

“I'll get you some soup and tea,” Vimes got to his feet when he had calmed down again.

“Thank you, my dear. And not just for that.”

“It's …,” instead of completing the sentence, he leaned down and kissed his wife on the forehead.

 


End file.
